


Most Ardently

by Draco_sollicitus



Series: Force and Fortitude: Regency Star Wars [3]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens
Genre: (Regency Era invented the slow burn), Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Implied end to slowburn, Pretty sure it makes sense on its own, Shameless description of Regency era clothing, Third in a series though, Wedding Night, austen au, shameless really, this was supposed to be a one-shot but now it's three chapters oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-16 11:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14163555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draco_sollicitus/pseuds/Draco_sollicitus
Summary: After a four month engagement, Poe and Rey Dameron enjoy their wedding night at the Dameron estate of Yavin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is just sex and shameless Regency-style romance. 
> 
> Warning: Oral sex; vaginal sex; Rey loses her virginity, and she is (realistically, imo) terrified of it being violent/unpleasant (she references some unfortunate advice/warnings she received from older married women, and based on her reaction, one can infer that she's had some unpleasant experiences in the past, which are also referenced in other parts of the series). 
> 
> Rey also comments on the associated bleeding with losing her virginity and refers to rumors about her "ruined" state. Frank discussions of ejaculation/other sex things.

Mrs. Rey Dameron, neé Kenobi, steps down from the carriage, accepting her husband’s hand for assistance.

It has only been five hours since the ceremony was completed, and they dined at Alderaan to celebrate their marriage. Perhaps the brevity of their marriage is the reason she still cannot believe that she has found herself here, at Yavin, as the bride of the dashing Commander Poe Dameron. He smiles at her fondly as she studies the façade of his family’s house.

His father, Mr. Kes Dameron, had stayed at Alderaan, blaming the alcohol and Han Solo’s company for his inability to return home that evening. Rey regrets the absence of her father-in-law. She has only known him four months, since the beginning of her engagement to the commander, but she has come to be very fond of the older gentleman.

Poe offers her his arm, which she graciously accepts as they walk up the steps to his house. They are greeted at the entrance by an older woman who introduces herself as Mrs. Kalonia, the stewardess of Yavin. Poe displays a shocking deal of affection for the woman, and as she walks up the stairs before them, Poe murmurs to Rey that Mrs. Kalonia had been most to kind to him as a child after the premature death of his mother.

Rey smiles even more warmly at the woman after hearing this. Mrs. Kalonia shows her the rooms that are to be Rey’s, and she thanks Mrs. Kalonia effusively. Her things will be brought from Alderaan tomorrow morning; as for now, her small valise is carried in by a servant who bows before leaving. Mrs. Kalonia tells her that breakfast will be served at eight a.m. the following day, and then she leaves, bowing. Rey stops herself from returning the bow – she still does not always remember that she is no longer a servant.

Rey studies her room, smiling to herself, when she hears her husband clear his throat behind her. Poe smiles at her, strangely nervous as he says, “Does the room please you?”

Rey nods, and smiles at him. It is so easy to smile at her husband. “Yes, sir, thank you.”

Poe frowns. “You need not call me sir, my love. We are equals in this marriage.”

“But you call me your lady; does this not make you my lord?”

He laughs at that and holds his hand out for her to take. They stand in the doorway to her room, and they pass a moment in silence, merely smiling at each other. Rey delights in the lack of chaperone, the lack of necessity to check over her shoulder for an unwanted audience. She has half a mind to kiss him when a female servant approaches.

“Excuse me, sir,” the girl says softly. “But Mrs. Kalonia said I should help Mrs. Dameron prepare for the evening.”

Rey’s entire body is on fire with embarrassment. She is not entirely naïve to what happens next, what happens after a wedding, what happens between husband and wife. But to think that the entire staff knows what is about to happen to her – that there is a person assigned to preparing her for the event. It makes her wish for the warm comfort of her room back at Alderaan, the curtains drawn and not a soul in sight.

“That will not be necessary.” Poe must have seen the mortification upon her face, and he dismisses the servant firmly but not unkindly. “Mrs. Dameron will not need preparation. Thank you.” The girl bows and walks away, seemingly unbothered by any implication. Poe frowns down the hallway before squeezing Rey’s hand softly. “Would you care to join me in my room? I will give you a moment of privacy.” He bows to her and kisses her on the cheek before disappearing down the hall into his room, the door to which he leaves open.

Rey stumbles back into her rooms and briefly considers locking her door and hiding. But she cannot hide the rest of her days, and she truly is not afraid of her husband. The nerves fluttering in her stomach are unpleasant, but when she recalls the kisses they had traded in their engagement, the soft joy she experienced from the feeling of his lips on hers, she reminds herself that she married a good, kind man who does not wish to bring her harm and often brings her happiness.

The warnings of some of the older women she had spoken to make her nerves all the worse – it is only the advice of Mrs Solo, who had told her to expect some unpleasantness the first few times but an enjoyable closeness to her husband nonetheless, that gives her some hope that the next few hours will not be a misery.

She splashes cold water on her face and examines her countenance in the small mirror in her adjoining washroom before walking quietly down the hall, willing herself to continue moving forward.

Poe stands at the foot of his bed, gazing at a picture above the unlit fireplace, clearly lost in thought. His hands are clasped behind his back; his blue coat is removed, and he cuts an extremely attractive figure in his waistcoat.

“Commander?” She keeps the wavering out of her voice, but she worries he will see her fear on her face. Poe turns and faces her, his smile warm and kind, and her fear abates significantly.

“Mrs. Dameron,” he greets her, and then laughs. “You must give me leave to say your name again. I find I quite like it.”

“You may,” she allows, walking forward to stand closer to him.

“Mrs. Dameron,” Poe bows at the waist, and she dips into a curtsy playfully.

She turns to examine the bed; his bed. These are his quarters, after all, and he has invited her to share his bed. 

Rey shakes her head when her husband asks her, "Do you require any refreshment?" 

"No, Commander," she answers softly. 

"I would rather you call me ‘Poe’ when we are alone, and I ask you a question, for I do not mean to command you,” he reminds her gently. "Unless you mean it teasingly. I do love it when you tease me."

Rey smiles at him, and then returns her gaze to the bed, her back to her husband. She hears him walk up behind her, and suddenly he is impossibly close to her.

“Do you have any idea of what we can do in this bed?” Her husband murmurs in her ear as his hands come to rest on her waist.

“Yes,” she whispers. Her ears are already red at her boldness when she says, “You enter me, and we become one.”

Poe groans low and rough in her ear. Rey shivers. She did know her body could shiver like this.

“Yes, sunbeam. What else, though?”

Rey wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Poe releases her waist, and she wants to protest, but he turns her to face him by her shoulders, and she spins easily, happily, a familiar echo of the dances they have shared in the past.

“What else will we do? What do you know of intimacy, my love?”

Rey hates to admit she does not know things; so she says nothing.

“Rey?” He looks concerned, and lays his finger under her chin and lifts until she looks him in the eyes. “We do not have to do anything, my sunbeam, if you do not wish it. I am happy just to be here with you, in the privacy of my room. We can talk all night, or – or order food, or wine...”

Rey raises a hand, and her husband ends his nervous speech. “I want you,” she whispers. “But I do not know what you mean.”

“My love, I speak of the things we do to bring each other pleasure that are separate from our bodies joining.” He kisses her hand sweetly and continues. “You must forgive me for sending the servant away; I intend on helping you to undress, so we can begin to discover what precisely pleases you.”

He steps forward and kisses her neck, and Rey makes a noise she had assumed only animals could make. She claps a hand to her mouth embarrassed, but her husband pulls away, pleased.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the other side of her neck. “This is how you are supposed to feel.”

She feels like she floats upon water, or perhaps air itself. Poe kisses down her neck, and spends a good deal of time with his mouth open, applying warm and wet pressure above her neckline, and Rey gasps, arches into it, her hands coming to grab his elbows as her chest accidentally brushes against his waistcoat.

“Commander Dameron!” She squeaks, most unbecomingly.

Poe laughs, and it is a dark sound from her golden officer. “My sunbeam, if you continue address me in such a fashion, this will be over before it begins.”

“What do you—” Rey cuts herself off as Poe’s hands move to the sash on the back of her gown, his fingers tangling with the bow.

“May I have the honor of removing this, Mrs. Dameron?” Rey feels a rush of heat at the sound of her new name. He has called her this several times today. It feels different now. 

“You may do whatever you wish, husband.” She laughs nervously.

Poe pulls away, frowning, his hands at his side. “No, sunbeam. We will do what you wish, tonight, and all days. I do not intend to be a tyrant to you in this house.”

Rey grabs his hand and strokes his fingers delicately with her own. “That is not what I meant, my darling. I only meant to say, I am happy to continue in this fashion, if it continues to feel like this.”

“And what would you like for me to do next?” Poe asks wonderingly.

Rey sees where his eyes travel, and she knows she has found her answer. Curious, she takes his hand and places it on her breast. She cannot feel much over the layers she wears, but Poe’s eyes drift shut, and he groans again. While he is otherwise distracted, she reaches behind herself to pull the bow of her dress loose.

He drops his hand to his side, mouth slightly open as she releases the sash. Not sure of what to do next, she holds the silk loosely in her hand; Poe takes it from her and kisses it, turning away to place it almost reverently upon his armchair.

Poe walks towards her, kissing her cheek before walking behind her, and his hands go to the button at the top of her gown’s back. Rey stiffens, muscles locking in terror as he loosens the button, and then the next.

“My love?” Poe freezes in his motions. “Rey, what ever is the matter?” His hands come to rest on her shoulders, stilling her – she realizes that she has been trembling like a leaf in the wind. Rey wills herself to breathe. This is her husband. This is his room. This is her wedding night.

“Nothing is the matter, husband.” She prays that her terror does not show in her voice. “I am just nervous.”

“How could I allay your nerves, my sunbeam?”

“I would much rather see your face,” Rey whispers, face burning. “I want to be able to see you when you complete your task.’

“That is easy enough.” Poe stands in front of her once again, and he holds her jaw gently while he kisses her with restrained passion. He continues to kiss her as his hands move down the line of her back, and soon Rey feels the gown hang more loosely around her body. “May I …”

Rey does not wait for him to finish the question; she pulls the gown down herself and allows it to pool around her feet.

She stands only in her chemise and stockings, and Poe is still in formal undress; he wears every item but his coat and cravat.

“Would you care to establish a similarity in our current dress?” He asks, stepping back and holding his arms out to the sides, smiling at her. Rey nods eagerly and walks forward, stepping out of her gown, unsure of where to start. She fumbles with his waistcoat, undoing the buttons with an open and cheerful curiosity. She sets it carefully on a table across from Poe’s bed – soon to be their bed, she remembers with a blush – and turns around to study Poe standing in his shirt and pants. He smiles at her as he bends to remove his own stockings, and she examines the strong muscles of his bare calf, and then allows herself to look upon the opening in his shirt, where a glimpse of his powerful chest is showing.

“Does the lady find me acceptable?” He teases her, catching where her eye has drifted.

“I find that I wonder at my fortune in finding a husband whose form seems fit to be captured in marble,” Rey comments idly. “You are built rather like a Grecian hero; I worry that you shall find me lacking in comparison.”

Poe blushes. “You have confused our positions. I have long considered you a goddess, my sunbeam,” he says solemnly. “And I am your humble attendant, as ever.” He bows, and Rey walks forward to pull his shirt free of his pants. The muslin lifts over his head, and he shakes his curls free. Rey swallows, her mouth strangely dry, as she studies the naked torso of a man for the first time.

“It is quite different from my own,” she comments, lifting a tentative hand to hover above his flushed skin. Poe’s own hand appears to press her palm against his chest, and she feels the pounding of his heart under their joined hands. “Your heart moves so quickly, Commander Dameron.”

“It is because I stand in front of you,” Poe tells her. “It often beats in such a manner when you are near. You will find that I am also quite nervous.”

This relieves her like nothing else has. “Truly? I make you nervous? I thought I was singular in that respect.”

“You have caused me to be nervous since the moment we met.” Rey joins him in his laughter, remembering their introduction at Crait Manor. “And in every moment since, as I grew increasingly aware of your perfection, my nerves only worsened in your presence. I have looked forward to this night for so long, I –” He ends his declaration, trailing off, and Rey smiles at him.

“How long?” She asks teasingly.

“I could not say, not without mortifying you and myself,” he admits sheepishly. Rey decides to end his agony, and she allows her shaking hands to pull at the button of his pants. It is more complicated than she expected; her own dresses come undone with much less effort. Poe’s hands, also shaking, drift down to assist her after a few fumbled attempts. He kicks out of them after they drop to his feet, and she studies his cotton drawers with high interest.

Seeing a tenting in the front, she looks away quickly, embarrassed. She turns to the bed and climbs on, awkwardly, knowing her husband’s eyes are on her. She feels coltish and unsure, woefully aware of how little she knows about what happens between men and women in intimate moments. Rey sits on the bed and faces Poe, waiting for him to move toward her.

His eyes are darker than she has seen them, and he licks his bottom lip while he regards her in his bed.

“Forgive me,” he coughs and blinks, clearing his eyes of the heady look of the previous moment. “Do you wish for me to join you?”

“I would like nothing more,” she assures him, and Poe almost runs to jump on the bed. He leaps on the mattress, and Rey laughs as she bounces from the sudden movement. Poe laughs as well, sounding ten years younger as he comes to lie down next to her. They laugh like this for several moments, and Rey feels her laughter catch in her throat around the same time Poe’s eyes leave her face and travel the length of her mostly-bare body.

It is easy to remember this is her husband, when he moves so slowly and carefully with her. Poe’s body coming to rest over hers is a comfort, not a fright, and the way he kisses her neck, obviously thrilled by the response he elicited earlier in such a fashion, makes her think that it will be worth what comes next if these kisses can inspire such pleasant sensation. She sighs, and the sigh becomes a rather louder moan, which she cuts off, embarrassed.

“Forgive me,” she whispers.

“For what?” Poe’s hand cups her cheek delicately and his thumb strokes the skin under her eye – another place she had not imagined would inspire a warmth when touched. “My love, I insist you not hold back such noises. I would like to know what pleases my wife.” He kisses her sweetly, without tongue or teeth, and Rey settles once more back onto the bed while he kisses her neck.

She gasps again when his hand trails down to trace her collarbone. Rey faintly whimpers when his mouth moves to follow his hand’s path, and she hears an answering chuckle from her husband as he places his lips on a sensitive spot and applies warm, wet pressure. Rey is embarrassed to find her hand tangled in his dark curls, but Poe groans appreciatively and nods, his hand skating to the hem of her chemise. Rey stiffens when his fingers curl around the edge, clearly intending to push it up her body.

“My sunbeam,” Poe pulls away to regard her face. “I will only remove this with your permission. We can leave it on, if you prefer. Or I can stop this enterprise entirely.”

“Can we stop – only for a few minutes?” Rey asks, hating the nerves that toss her stomach about like a ship in a hurricane. Poe’s hands leave her body, and he lies down next to her carefully. Rey blinks away tears.

“I meant it my love,” he murmurs, leaning over to kiss her shoulder, and the only word she has for it is _adoringly_. “We do not have to go any further. I am content to hold you, as it is more than I could have imagined being allowed not even five months ago. I am the happiest man alive, for you agreed to be my wife. I can now serve you the rest of my days, my sweet Rey.” Poe kisses her shoulder again, his hand brushing up her bare arm, and Rey shivers once more.

“I am your wife,” she says thoughtfully, and Poe smiles in response. “I am your wife, and I want to be with you as wives should be with husbands. I … I am just nervous, I suppose, that I will not know what to do.”

Poe laughs sweetly, and supports his weight upon his forearm so he can kiss her. They trade lazy, gentle kisses for several minutes, and Rey sighs more frequently. Eventually, she nods, full aware of how much she trusts this man, her husband. “You can remove it,” she says shyly. “If you remove your drawers? I wish for us to be bared to each other.”

“I love you,” he tells her suddenly. “I love you, and I want this to be pleasant for you.” He kisses her before she can respond, and then he kneels on the bed between her legs. His patient hands are sliding the hem of her chemise upward. He stops when her sex is exposed, and Rey’s hands quickly cover herself. “Do not be ashamed,” Poe murmurs, lightly stroking her hand. “I will not touch you there until you are ready.” Rey nods and forces herself to rest her hands on the bedsheets. Poe continues to slide her shift over her torso, and he pauses to press fevered kisses into her stomach. Rey whimpers and jumps – it makes her want to laugh, but also throw herself in his arms like a wanton woman. Poe laughs against her skin, and then he pulls the chemise over her breasts. He stops laughing.

“Can you sit up so I can remove this?” He sounds so nervous, and Rey obliges, if only to make him smile again. When she is naked, he allows her to pull on the top of his drawers, and he adjusts himself so she can pull the fabric over his own sex.

Rey stares in unabashed interest. “It is so different. I have never seen anything like it,” she comments, wide-eyed. “May I touch it?” She wonders if it is soft, or hard. It looks like it could be both.

Poe consents. “You will find that I will not deny you access to this part of my body, or any part, ever, my love.” Rey smiles at him, feeling the love she feels for him fill the entirety of the expression. He returns the smile, and Rey reaches out tentatively, her finger starting where it connects to the rest of his body, and then sliding up to the tip, where a clear liquid has gathered. When she smears her finger through it curiously, his hand comes to grip her wrist firmly, and he hisses between his teeth.

“Is this a good sign?” She asks, pulling her finger away to examine the liquid.

“Yes.” Poe is often so verbose; she is surprised to hear him without a longer speech or clever comment. When she looks up, Rey sees a dark expression playing on his face. He looks almost hungry, and he looks down at her in open admiration, and it makes her shiver once more. Rey feels a strange bravery overtake her, and she wraps her hand around the middle of his sex.

“What should I do now?” She asks. Poe covers her hand with his own and moves it upwards and back down. She watches in amazement as the skin moves with their hands, exposing a new part of his member. “Oh,” she says softly, continuing to stroke in the way he showed her.

“Oh.” Poe swallows audibly, and then releases her hand. “I request that we stop this activity, or I fear we shall never consummate.” He laughs awkwardly, and Rey lies back down on the pillows. She knows what must happen now, and she spreads her legs a little wider to give him room. This feels natural, and her terror recedes as Poe leans down over her, as slow and patient as ever.

“This may be uncomfortable,” he whispers. “Or even painful. I beg you to tell me if it hurts, and we can stop and find another way.” Rey nods to show she understands, but she knows she could not speak, not when her throat closes in trepidation. “I can spend some time…opening you, if you wish.”

Rey does not know what that means, so she tells him, “I would much rather take you into my body now, Commander. Please.” It is true. She wishes for this part to be over, she wishes to please him, she wishes to know what happens next, beyond rumor and whispers.

Poe nods and kisses her passionately, and she feels something shift in the air between them. When he kneels upright between her legs, he pulls her knees up, and pulls her closer to him. Rey goes willingly, slightly in awe of his strength. The muscles of his chest move in an attractive way as he exerts himself, and Rey is enraptured by his graceful movements.

His hand comes down and strokes over her sex timidly, and she arches her back, having not expected it to feel so _good._ He smiles at her response and strokes her again. Rey gasps and squirms against his fingers, and when he takes himself in hand and guides himself to her, one hand bracing himself on the bed so he can enter her with an angle that appears to be acceptable, she finds she is not afraid anymore.

“I love you, and I treasure you,” he informs her solemnly while he pushes against her. Rey breathes through her nose and tries to relax as he enters her, and when he meets with resistance, she squeaks and grabs the arm that is near her. Instead of pushing through viciously, like she had been warned he would, Poe’s hand leaves his member and returns to her sex; he strokes at her bud, a small part of her body she has paid little attention to in the past. His thumb circles it a few times, his fingers resting on her pelvis, and Rey feels her hips moving towards him, seeking further pressure. Without meaning to, she pushes down further on his member, pulling him in and past the point of resistance as pleasure courses through her core from his ministrations. The pleasure mingles strangely with a sharp pain as he fills her, and they gasp in unison as her body accepts him.

Poe does not appear to lose his mind or move quickly then, shoving into her and making her teeth ache, like one lady had informed her would surely happen. Instead, he continues to fill her slowly, eyes closed as he stretches her upon him.

 Soon, he is flush to her, and Rey blinks at the sensation of being so full. Poe’s other hand comes to the bed, and he leans over her completely and kisses her.

“How are you feeling, Rey?” He whispers, voice rougher than she has ever heard it.

“I feel full,” she confesses truthfully. “How do you feel?”

“Wonderful, my sunbeam” Poe laughs, still rough. “May I begin to move, now?”

“You may,” Rey nods. “I request that you move, Commander.” He smiles happily and complies.  

Rey watches in amazement as her husband rocks into her from above, his own body curved above hers protectively. It is very uncomfortable in the first minutes, but a bearable sort of uncomfortable. She can certainly bear a slight discomfort if it makes Poe’s face look like _that._

His expression is one caught between the most intense focus and the most powerful happiness. She strokes her hand along his jaw, pleased that in this room, she can touch him however she wants, and Poe catches her hand up and kisses her wrist. She mewls like a small kitten when he licks, honestly _licks,_ the sensitive skin over her pulse.

Something about the feeling his action inspires causes her hips to buck upwards, and both she and Poe gasp.

“Oh, my sweet Rey,” Poe groans. His heavy head drops to her shoulder, and he finds it in his lithe, strong body to go ever faster. In his desperation, he rubs against _something_ inside of Rey, and suddenly, she is a wanton woman, a woman possessed.

“Oh!” She shrieks, nails digging into his bare shoulders. “Oh, my love, do that again, I beg you.”

“You do not need to beg me, merely ask me. I am yours to command.” He reminds her. Concentration is the predominant expression on his face now, as he twists his hips and returns his attention to that spot inside her.

“Poe!” Rey screams.

“I must have died,” her husband comments wonderingly. “I must have died and ascended to Heaven. I have only imagined my name passing from your lips in this fashion when I was asleep, and could not curtail the wickedness of my dreams of you.”

“Tell me of the dreams, Commander,” Rey asks, her breath coming in short pants as if she had been running, and not lying on her back while her husband brings increasingly powerful bursts of pleasure to her body.

“They are like this,” he groans as he continues to pull out and push back in, a most maddening pattern. “You beneath me; my hands able to touch whatever they want, my lips caressing whatever they want, nothing between us anymore, no reason for me to hide how ardently I love you.”

Rey whimpers, and something inside of her clenches involuntarily. As her legs scramble for purchase on the mattress, she remembers that they never removed her stockings; for some reason, this thrills her further. She digs her nails into his back and her husband makes a noise close to one of pain, and his hips move impossibly faster.

“Tell me something,” he whispers. “Anything. I need to hear your voice.”

“I love you,” she answers. “Poe, I love you so much.”

With a shout, his body locks above hers, hips stilling. Rey feels a sudden warmth spill inside her; this is what Leia had told her about. She smiles up at her husband, admiring the way his neck looks while his face is caught in ecstasy so intense it could be agony. His eyes are shut, and sweat beads his strong brow. Rey wipes it away, tucking her hand in his curls, the gesture oddly tender for the passion they just shared.

“I love you, too,” he says after a pause. Whatever spell had descended upon him seems to have lifted, and the gleam in his eyes is softer than usual.

“Was that –?” She does not have a name for what just happened to him.

“It’s called an orgasm,” he explains. “It’s what the point of all this,” he waves a hand over their still-joined bodies, “is. And I am ashamed that you did not experience one.”

“I had never really heard of them until this moment,” Rey laughs at his embarrassment. “I could hardly miss what I did not know existed.”

“Ours are a little different,” Poe sighs and rocks down to kiss her. Rey is pleased that while sore, she still feels a hum of pleasure where they are joined. “Mine is … messy. Yours will be almost entirely sensation, maybe some wetness.”

“You know a great deal about intercourse,” Rey remarks idly, scratching her nails across his shoulders.

“This was my first time experiencing this,” Poe tells her, catching a hand and pressing it to his lips. “I swear to you. Other things….I cannot pretend to be innocent in my knowledge of other ways to give bodies pleasure, and I regret to tell you this after we have shared such an intimacy.”

“Oh.” Rey looks up at him, still hazy from their union. She’s actually pleased to know that he has not spilled himself inside another. She had assumed the opposite, so she tells him. “I did not imagine this was your first time. You appeared very good at it.”

“Not so good that I gave you pleasure,” he says mournfully.

Rey tilts her face up for a kiss, which he provides. “I felt great pleasure indeed, my love. Even the action of being close to you was more pleasure than I have known in my entire life.”

“I do not deserve you,” Poe tells her gravely. “And now comes an unpleasant feeling, I imagine.” He pulls out of her slowly, carefully, and Rey hisses through her teeth at the renewed stinging, and the oddly sticky feeling that follows his total departure from her body.

Her husband collapses onto the pillow next to her, and he kisses her shoulder, large hand stroking her from collarbone to navel and back again. Rey shivers, and smiles at him.

Then she sits up slightly to survey the damage. Rey stares at the red that streaks her thighs, and the stain below them on the bed.

“I suppose you know me to be honest now.” She says thoughtfully, wiping at the blood on her thighs.

“What do you mean, sunbeam?” Poe asks, rolling back towards her. “Stars above, you’re bleeding! Are you alright?” Poe grabs her hand and stares down at the stains, horrified. “Did I hurt you, my love?”

“No more than was necessary, I’m sure.” Rey laughs at her silly husband. Her _husband._ “No, I only mean to say – the night I met you, I was so convinced you only wished to speak with me because you’d heard the rumor that I’d been ruined by another man. It was the talk of all the old gossiping birds. But now, this –” Rey shrugs, still feeling content from their coupling. “You can rest knowing you did not wed a tarnished woman.”

Poe’s hands are on her face suddenly, and he turns her to face him gently but urgently. “My love,” he whispers. Rey’s shocked to see tears in his eyes. “You cannot think that of me. I would not care if you lay with hundreds of men before me – you could never be ruined. You are perfect, and you are whole, and you are _Rey._ I love you.” He bites his lip, more tears forming. “Did you – did you spend the entirety of our intimacy worrying if I would suspect you were not a virgin?”

“No,” Rey assures him, stroking his full sideburns, marveling at the softness even in the tense moment. “No, darling, I enjoyed that immensely; more than I was warned I would.”

“You’ll enjoy it more the next time,” he promises. “But swear to me you will never hold on to such fear, especially not fear about what I think of you. Tell me whatever is on your mind, and I will vow to always tell you of my own mind.” He says this earnestly, and they kiss briefly but passionately.

Rey nods, and vows, “I swear it.”

He kisses her on the nose lightly. “Good. Now, let’s do something about this, shall we?” He gets out of bed and wanders over to his wash basin and fiddles with a pitcher. He comes back with a dampened wash cloth, and he examines Rey's bare body, her legs still spread out wantonly. She blushes furiously at his scrutiny, her hands drifting to hide the evidence of their coupling.

“No. Do not hide this from me,” Poe grabs her wrist when he sits on the edge of the bed. “I am your husband, and you are my wife. We share all things. Do not be ashamed of our leavings.” Rey nods, face still burning, and stares at the ceiling while her husband attends to her aching loins. He wipes away the blood on her thighs, first, and then he turns his attention to her core.

Eventually, the push and pull of the warm cloth feels pleasant, and then it feels _very_ pleasant.

“Oh,” Rey gasps, her thighs banging together and inadvertently trapping her husband’s wrist and hand. “ _Oh._ ”

“Oh?” When she looks up, Poe’s face is wicked. “Oh, Mrs. Dameron, does that please you?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “It pleases me very much.”

“Hmm,” he considers briefly, looking at her mound with unabashed appreciation. “But I am sure you are still too sore from accepting me into your body to attempt another coupling?” Rey nods, embarrassed. “Don’t worry, my love. There are other things I can do to make you feel good.”

“Like?” Rey squirms under his gaze.

“Like this.” He kneels on the floor and pulls her towards the edge of the bed, so her legs hang off the side. He tosses the dirtied cloth behind him, and _heavens_ – he licks her sex from bottom to top, as if she were a stick of penny candy.

“Oh!” Rey’s hips thrust up, in a surge of hazy pleasure. “You cannot – it – it isn’t right! You shouldn’t be on your knees for me.”

“I most certainly should. You are a goddess, and I belong in worship.” Poe smiles at her, and then he pushes her legs even more widely open, gripping her knees and pressing them into the mattress, leaving her utterly exposed and utterly at his mercy. Realizing her stockings are still on, he laughs darkly, and pulls them off with surprising ease, discarding them carelessly. Rey is entirely naked in front of him, and he _growls_ as he buries his face into her most private part _again._ Rey fights the urge to scream, especially when Poe pulls away to whisper, “You taste even better than I imagined you would.”

“You – you imagined this?”

“After our engagement, I allowed myself small liberties I had refused myself when you were the younger sister of a good friend. After you accepted me, and I knew our marriage to be inevitable, I allowed myself to imagine all ways I could bring you pleasure in our bed,” he confesses idly. A long finger replaces his tongue during the speech, and Rey whimpers when she feels it work its way inside her body. “My god, you are soaked.”

“With your mouth upon me only seconds ago, was I to be dry?” Rey asks archly.

“No, my sunbeam, you are glorious wet – with your pleasure and my own.” Poe groans and returns his lips to her bud. Rey half-screams and then claps her hand over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut and throwing her head back on the mattress.

“Mrs. Dameron,” he says sharply. She makes herself look at her husband, a thrill running through her at the use of their name. “I know I told you that I had little desire to be a tyrant in our household, but allow me to give you two commands, or I fear I shall go mad.”

“Yes?” Rey manages to ask, trying to prompt him to continue his onslaught with her eyes.

Poe bites the soft skin of her inner thigh, sharp teeth and sharper pleasure. She hisses through her teeth, and he locks eyes with her. “First, keep your eyes on me,” he orders, as if she were one of his soldiers. “Keep your eyes on me, so you can watch me bring you to pleasure. Second, you are forbidden from blocking those glorious sounds.”

“I will scream,” she warns him. “What will the servants say?”

“It is our wedding night, my love,” he grins at her roguishly. “I imagine they will merely receive confirmation of what they already suspect.”

“You make an excellent – _oh!_ ” Rey is insensible once more as he devours her. The bliss in Poe's face as he stares back at her suggests she had offered him a cup of delicious wine, and not granted him access to her mound in such a fashion. His eyes drift shut after a time, and he moans happily. Rey knows she should be mortified, should object more, should insist they limit their union to the activities approved of biblically, but –

She finds she does not much care for propriety. She never really has, and she certainly doesn’t here, in the safety of their bed, as Poe’s tongue laps at her with increasing enthusiasm. Rey fears that she hurts her husband’s scalp when her hand comes to his hair in a desperate attempt for purchase. Her other arm shakes in its effort to support her weight – Poe does not relent in keeping her legs open for better access to her slit, and she whimpers continuously as he works her with surprising skill.  

The hints of sensation she had experienced when his member had filled her return in more powerful fashion. “Poe!” She calls his name desperately, staring at him in awe. “Poe! Commander!” She tugs on his hair by accident, and the resultant groan he makes, still pressed against her sex, causes her to shriek from the vibrations.

Rey distantly wonders at the volume of her voice before she forgets to care. A tightening in her lower belly grows ever warmer, and she does not know whether to push her husband away or pull him closer. Poe does not seem to be bothered by her indecision, and merely increases his onslaught until she knows a roaring in her ears, her body locking with some phantom of ecstasy, and she screams loudly enough to shake the Heavens. Pleasure is the only thing she knows, and she does not know for how long she floats in it.

Her husband laughs sweetly in the distance, and Rey lowers herself back upon the bed. “Do you laugh at me, Commander Dameron?” she asks sleepily. Her heart pounds in her chest, but a general heaviness has descended over her limbs, which are overtired in a pleasant way. When she manages to open her eyes and study his profile, she sees that he is again at the wash basin in the corner of the room.

“I laugh from sheer delight, Mrs. Dameron. I could not have imagined anything more potent than what just transpired.” He grins at her rakishly, and Rey remembers how dashing her husband is. “The sounds you made, my love – they echo in my ears even now. I request that you allow me bring you to that same peak, to perform what I just performed, every day of our marriage.” He uses a towel to scrub at his chin and mouth, and Rey finds she cannot be embarrassed of the reason why he requires the wash.

“I will not fight you on that, my darling husband.” Rey sighs happily. She sees that his member has once again risen and now points towards her most intriguingly. “Shall we do something to tend to you, my love?” She manages to sit up, her feet on the floor and a tremble through her muscles.

“That is unnecessary. You are sore, and you are tired. I entreat you to get some rest, and I shall be most content to hold you.”

Poe comes back to the bed after washing his face, and he maneuvers them into a reclined position. He opens his arms to her, and she tucks herself in under his chin, sighing contentedly when he pulls the blankets over their naked bodies. After what just transpired between them, she is surprised to find there is another, less sensual activity that could bring her such joy. But as she falls asleep in the safety of her husband’s arms, Rey Dameron finds incredible peace in the fact that with her commander by her side, she will never be alone again, not for the rest of her days.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe reflects on his wedding night; Rey wakes up and wants to try, try again; Poe finds a different way to entertain his wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How we earned the "E" Rating, in case there are things you'd like to avoid: Poe recalls the horror he felt making his wife bleed, and his uneasiness at the rumors that surrounded her virtue (he fears sexual violence in her past, and is afraid he only added to that); references to bodily functions; some ye olde dirty talk (Poe teaches Rey the various dirty words for body parts); Rey attempts oral sex with rousing success (she initiates it); and then some good old fashioned manual stimulation

His beloved sleeps in his arms, and Poe watches in abject wonder.

Sleep will assuredly come for him at some point, as the intensity of his peak was nonpareil, and he feels a pleasurable sort of exhaustion in its wake. But first, he wants to spend a few minutes adoring his wife in the quiet comfort of their marriage bed.

Poe had fallen in love with the charming, quick-witted ward of his family friend; he had realized that there are dimensions to this woman he never could have imagined very shortly into their acquaintance. Now, having shared this intimacy with her, he is more certain than ever of her status as a goddess. While he intended to spend this reverie enjoying the feeling of her in his arms, and all its domestic wonder, his body betrays him, and he feels his member rise with the memory of their union the previous night.

His seed had spilled out of her, and the sight of it shining against her sex burned upon his mind. He groans involuntarily, mouth filling with water at the memory of her taste upon his tongue. Poe had never imagined such elixir, nor had he ever heard such sweet sighs of pleasure. He had been doubly thrilled to learn just how loud the composed Miss Kenobi could be.

Mrs. Dameron, he corrects himself. His cock swells all the more for the thought of her name. _Mrs. Dameron._ He blames his arousal on the three-odd years he spent forbidding himself from thinking of her while he tended to his base urges. Poe thought he would have gone mad, working himself without letting his mind drift to the cupid bow of her mouth, the gentle curve of her waist, the smell of her hair. She was a lady, and it would have been improper for him to think of her in that way, during that activity.

But now she is his wife, and he has no such reservations. Not when he thinks he can still feel the clutch of her sex around him, not when he can still see where her essence dries upon him. She is his wife, and he knows precisely the tightness of her body, the sensation of her hands upon his cock, and the taste of her upon his tongue. Lord above, he could never have imagined such intense happiness.

Not complete happiness, though. He knows if he were to turn around in the bed and look at the floor for the cloth, or look down at the sheets, he would see evidence of how brutally he had treated Rey in his passion. Poe understands the primal joy most men feel in claiming their wife’s maidenhead, but Poe feels only a bitter regret that she needed to suffer for him to feel pleasure. He felt like an _animal_ when he had seen her staring at the blood between her legs. He had heard her gasp when they had become one; in his stupid, ridiculous, proud folly, he had assumed she, too, was feeling the delightful pleasure of being joined. Now he knows better; now he knows she gasped in pain, probably fighting back tears as her husband caused her injury.

He wonders why she bore it in silence; he has an uncomfortable feeling he knows why. She must have heard such horror stories about intercourse to believe it acceptable for him to abuse her thusly. And while the sight of his seed upon her sex was a compelling one, he cannot shake the knowledge that her sex was swollen, most likely bruised, with the intensity of his thrusts.

Poe is a cad, a damnable scoundrel, and he would not defend himself were Ben or Han Solo to arrive in the morning and run him through on their sword. She must have felt such agony with him inside her; but Rey was so small, for all her strength, so small and tight, and while that fact had given him rapture, it had caused her pain. He had caused her to bleed, for God’s sake. No matter how much society insisted that blood was a point of pride, he could never celebrate spilling her precious blood.

He loves his wife so ardently, so completely. His cock fairly aches at the desire to be inside her once more. But his only true pride of this evening was hearing her scream his name with his tongue attending to her sex, his finger playing her like a fine instrument. Poe decides, swears, vows, to only bring her pleasure in this fashion until she can bear the presence of his own sex. He will not harm his wife again, not for all the ships of London, not for any mortal treasure. Rey is too precious to be mistreated, and she deserves only pleasure in this life.

She sighs softly, and he smiles down upon her, her breath wafting across his bare chest. Her hand tightens on his collarbone, and he lifts it gently to kiss her knuckles. Poe’s heart sings praises to the Almighty for allowing him to hold her like this. So many months at sea over the last three years did he spend wishing fervently for a moment precisely like this one. He did not even wish to know her body, thinking it improper to even imagine. He only wished to hold his beloved, to give her happiness and protection, and now, with the memory of what he has done...

No, it will not be borne. He will not lay with his wife again, not when it is unknown how long she will take to recover from tonight’s assault. Rey is clearly no stranger to violence; he will die before she knows it in his house, in _their_ house.

Poe’s heart breaks slightly at the memory of her shying away from him when he unbuttoned her dress. He knows there were rumors around her virtue; she herself commented on them when examining her virginal blood. Poe does not wish to know how those rumors tied into her response to being bared to him, the flinch of her covering her sex when he finally exposed it, the sad, faraway look in her eyes as she looked at the blood on her thighs. Poe does not wish to know. But he also desperately wishes to know, if only so he can guard his wife against any of the demons of her past, so he can avoid bringing her back to them like he must have unwillingly done, so many times this night.

Rey Dameron will never know pain again, he swears it. If this is his only success, he shall live a most victorious life.

“I love you, my sunbeam,” he whispers out loud. “I love you, and I am sorry. I am a wretch.” Rey cannot hear him, but his sweet wife presses her nose into his chest, and he tells himself her spirit reaches out to him, sensing his distress, telling him that one day she may forgive him for what he has done.

It is this hope that allows him to finally relax and fall into a sleep defined by finally realized dreams.

**

Rey stretches lightly when she awakens. She had been sleeping quite heavily, and she does not know what had inspired her to exit her dreams. She blinks away the weight over her eyes, and realizes that she is faced with the expansive chest of her husband. _Her lover,_ her mind provides. _Poe is my lover, now._ Rey blushes at the idea, and she blushes again when she feels a pleasurable throb in her loins.

Her stomach aches at the memory of Poe on his knees, worshipping her with his mouth. That a man could do that to a woman was unknown to her before last night, and Rey thrills at the notion that he swore to do it again, and often. She briefly entertains the idea that perhaps she could do something similar to him. It had felt so different than his member meeting her flesh – perhaps her mouth upon his sex would elicit a similar, unique pleasure? Rey is flustered, not knowing how it would work. But Poe has always been so free with sharing information with her in the past; she believes he will help her determine the best method if she asks him.

Rey lifts her head off her husband’s chest slowly and sees the soft grey light outside the windows; she realizes that it is almost dawn. Rey startles, embarrassed at having spent the night in Poe’s bed. He had given her such a lovely suite of rooms, and Mrs. Kalonia had probably worked very hard in preparing them; Poe is too kind to ask her to leave, she knows, but now she has very much overstayed her welcome, and probably insulted him in refusing to use the room.

Her chemise is on the floor because Poe had thrown it from the bed as if it had insulted his family name after removing it from her body. Rey slowly works her way out from underneath Poe’s arm, and she slides carefully to the edge of the bed. Her feet hit the ground, and she hisses faintly at the burn between her legs as she stands. The wobble in her knees is strange, but not unpleasant; it feels not so different from the exhaustion after a day of horseback riding, and truthfully, is not nearly as painful. Rey steps lightly over to her chemise, and she is just pulling it over her head when she hears her husband’s dulcet voice, roughened by sleep in a most attractive manner.

“My sunbeam, up before the dawn. Why did you leave the bed?”

Rey blushes and turns around after letting the shift fall down over her body. “My apologies, Commander Dameron. I did not mean to fall asleep last night, and I regret that I capitalized upon your time in such a fashion. You need not worry about sending me away in the future after we have coupled. The rooms you have given me are lovely, and I think I shall like them very much. Again, I apologize most humbly for any slight to your generosity.”

During her speech, Poe’s face goes from sleepy, to confused, to almost angry. “Rey, my love, come here.” He sits upright on the bed and pats on the edge of the mattress with his large hand. Rey swallows and walks over. Poe has never shown violence, but with a look like that, indiscernible and caused by her rambling, she cannot be sure. She stands next to the bed and casts her eyes down, fidgeting with her hands and hoping he cannot see the shaking of her shoulders.

“Rey, I must insist—” Poe stops abruptly. “Sunbeam, why – why do you look so frightened?”

“I am sorry, Commander.” Rey whispers, still staring at the floor. There’s a rustle of fabric, and she sees his feet come to rest on the floor. His hand is under her chin suddenly, and she squeezes her eyes shut, not knowing what will happen next. She has no idea, and she does not think she wants to see.

“Please do not call me Commander when you are afraid.” The quality of Poe’s voice encourages her to look upon his face. Agony is written there, agony and fear and sadness. “Please. But Rey, tell me why you thought I would want you to leave?”

“Because you gave me a room,” Rey answers. He does not look angry, so she finds it easier to speak now. “You gave me a room, and I should use it. It was improper of me to sleep before you could dismiss me, and I took advantage of your perpetual kindness.”

A frown furrows Poe’s brow; she has not seen a similar expression since he used to glower at Hux last year. “My sunbeam,” his voice is rough again, but not from sleep. “I gave you a room in case you wanted a private place. I would never dismiss you from my rooms, not when I have yearned to have you for three years.”

“You have me,” Rey insists, face flushing. “I am yours now, and that will not change if I sleep in a separate bed.”

“Rey, you are mine, yes,” and her face flushes ever warmer from the memory of him inside her, “but I am just as much yours. I am yours, my love, and please allow me to beg you to stay here with me. I yearned for your body, yes, but I yearned just as much, if not more, for your mind, your spirit, your company. I love you, and I want you by my side. If you want to leave I will not stop you, but please, dear God, do not exit my rooms in the middle of the night as if you had committed a crime by occupying our bed.”

“Our bed?” Rey whispers, not knowing how to interpret this speech.

“Our bed, my love. It is ours. We have christened it together, as if it were some great and important ship.” Poe offers her a wink, and it calms her heart to see a familiar, charming expression on his face. “It is not yet dawn. We can rise now, if you wish, and walk about the grounds. Or we can sleep once more – if the lady wishes to stay, and I hope she does, she should sleep in my arms, for I have not known such peace in all my twenty-eight years upon this earth.”

“Oh,” she says happily, reduced to single syllables by his kindness. He is the only person in the world who can get her to forget her words, which, until she met him and received his letters, were her favorite possessions. “If the lord wishes.” He rolls his eyes playfully at her title for him, but he moves on the bed, leaving room for her next to him on the mattress. Rey climbs on carefully, and she spies his member as he lifts the sheets so she can slip in.

“Shall I assist you, husband?” Rey asks playfully, very much interested in having him inside her once more. It had been so pleasant at times the previous night; she thinks that practice in this area will only improve the sensation. “I fear your affliction from last night carries on into the early hours of this morning.”

“Do not worry about me, sunbeam.” Poe rolls his hips away from her with a guilty expression on his face. “You need not tend to me in my perversions. It will go away on its own.”

“I should very much like to help,” Rey insists. And she would. She would like to help. “Perhaps my hand, if you are still tired?” She trips her fingers lightly down his abdomen, wanting to give him time to reject her. Poe groans instead, and his hand comes to the back of her head. He pulls her down for a bruising kiss, and he nips at her bottom lip playfully. She whimpers at the sensation, surprised as ever by the variety of touches he can employ to make her blood sing.

When he pulls away, he nods firmly, clearly giving her permission to continue her exploration. Rey is too curious to put off touching him, and her hand strokes over the strange, soft skin at the top of his sex before she wraps her hand around the middle again. “Could you help me? So I can learn how to –” Rey blushes, not having the word. A strange rumbling noise rises in Poe’s chest, and his hand wraps around her own once more. They move up and down in harmony, and Rey is fascinated by the velvet-warm strength of his sex.

“What are you thinking, sunbeam? You look vexed.” Poe’s cheeks are red, and his eyes slightly glassier than normal when she raises her eyes to look at him.

“I was just marveling at how this fit inside me,” she laughs lightly. “It is so large, I wonder at it being able.”

“Are you grievously hurt, my love?” Poe stops their hands from moving, and Rey looks at him in concern. He pulls his hand away to rest it on his stomach.

“Do not worry about me, husband. I bore my duty happily.” She smiles at him, and she continues to stroke her hand up his length the way he had shown her. Poe looks unhappy still, but he does not move to stop her. After a minute of attentive strokes, he rests his head on the pillow and closes his eyes with a sigh.

Rey notices his hips starting to lift off the bed in time with her movements, and she moves a little quicker as an experiment. It elicits a loud, bitten-off groan from her husband, and his hips move more noticeably after that. His eyes are still closed, and Rey is resting her weight on her forearm, in much the same manner he had balanced his own weight last night. She has learned so much in these last twelve hours, and she thinks there is something else she would like to learn.

Looking at Poe’s peaceful face nervously, she wets her lips in anticipation. She adjusts her weight carefully, to not disturb him, and without stilling her hand upon his shaft, she kisses the very tip of his member gently, which inspires a curse from her husband.  

 “Hell!” Rey rests her chin on the soft skin between his member and his hip bone, and looks up the bed at her husband. Poe stares at her in wonderment, and she thinks, pleased, that his face has never been so scarlet.

“Pardon?” Rey teases him, hand still moving. “Such billingsgate, Commander, and in front of your wife.”

“Forgive my language, my queen. But please, you need not do that. I do not expect you to service me in such a fashion, or any fashion.”

“I want to,” Rey says simply. “And I thought you wanted me to do as I pleased.” Poe groans again, and Rey feels a wild happiness course through her.

This marriage business allows her to explore parts of herself she had long since silenced; a desire to do as she pleases, the wildness that had her running barefoot around the Kenboi estate, tearing through the moors with her uncle’s hunting dog through all hours of the day. This is a different kind of wildness, to be sure, but in her marriage bed, it seems all too wonderful that she can be _free._

Rey kisses his sex again, and asks him, curiously, after running her tongue down the length – very much borrowing from his treatment of her own sex the previous night, and judging by the whine in his throat, a wise decision –

“Poe? What do you call this?”

“The action or the body part, my love?”

Rey laughs throatily, overcome by her lust and her love for her husband. “The body part. I do not think I need a name for this action.”

“I do not know if it is proper to say in front of a lady.” Poe sits up slightly so he is resting on his elbows and gazing at her face.

Rey huffs in disapproval and runs her tongue along the length of him once more. “Please?” she asks, looking up at him with what she hopes is an alluring look.

“Damn,” he mutters, his hand cupping her chin. Rey blinks and smiles at him, happy with the thunderstruck look on his handsome face. “Damn it – I call it a ‘cock,’ Rey, it’s a cock, and I shall be damned for eternity for enjoying this so much.”

“Then I shall be damned with you, husband.” Rey applies herself more studiously to the task, enjoying the taste and heaviness of his cock upon her tongue. Poe seems to lock his muscles under her wandering hands, and eventually his hands fist at his sides.

“My love, I must entreat you to stop, now,” Poe’s breath comes in a pant, his words rushed. Rey pulls off of him, worried, but his hand quickly replaces her mouth, and he strokes himself once, twice, three times before he spills with a shout of her name. Rey watches in fascination, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand – a handkerchief simply is not nearby for her to be proper, she thinks hysterically – as his stomach is painted white with his seed.

He closes his eyes once more, sounding out of breath as he lies back on the pillows for a moment. Ever curious, ever intrigued, Rey runs her finger through a pool of the liquid, and she brings it to her mouth for a taste. It is bitter, and vaguely unpleasant, but it is of her husband, so she finds she does not care.

“Oh, fuck.” Rey looks up at Poe in absolute shock. She has not heard that word in years, not since she came to Alderaan. Poe twists until he’s resting on one elbow, his hand cupping his softened cock. “Pardon me, my love. I simply cannot believe this is real. You cannot know the possessive monster that sits, pleased, inside of me this very moment. It wishes for things that would shock you even further. Please, give me leave to clean myself, and I shall return to you.” Rey nods, eyes still wide, and Poe rises to walk to the wash basin. He wipes his stomach with a cloth, and Rey realizes how damp her thighs have become. She squirms against it, and she looks at her husband hopefully.

“Do you think,” she coughs and looks down, face burning in shame. “Do you think we could lie together, one more time?”

Poe comes to the bed and sits down facing her. “My love, you can see for yourself that I do not have the ability to perform once more.” Sure enough, his member sits small, soft, nestled in his curls. “But, lie in my arms, and I shall make sure you are well-rested so we can continue sleeping.”

Rey obliges, and soon she finds herself in her husband’s arms as he kisses her delicately. They lie together, Poe on his back, and Rey draped halfway across his chest while they trade sweet kisses that grow ever more passionate. She wonders if he minds the taste of himself on her lips, and the thought is oddly thrilling. Her sighs come quickly as his hand strokes down her side, and he lifts the hem of her chemise so he can trail his fingers up her legs. He pulls on her hip, and Rey feels herself turning naturally, rolling over his leg so she is between his legs, much of her weight on his chest, and her legs stretched out on the bed, resting against his own. Without displacing her more than necessary, he tugs her shift up and over her head, and soon she is bare against the cool, early morning air of the room. She shivers, and feels her nipples respond to the cold temperature. Poe groans low in her ear, and his hands come to cup her breasts.

She gasps at the warm sensation it inspires, and as he plays with her chest, fingers massaging the soft flesh, thumbs moving to circle her nipples, her core grows wetter. He seems pleased by her reaction, and she feels so safe and cared for as he kisses the length of her neck. Eventually, one of his strong, calloused hands slips down her stomach, and comes to rest on the thatch of curls that covers her sex.

“Do you know what I call this?” He rumbles in her ear. Rey shakes her head against his collarbone, legs trembling as she fights to keep them spread. She wonders what his face looks like right now as she stares at the ceiling, and then down at his large hands, tan against her pale skin.

“It’s called a quim,” he murmurs, a long finger reaching to stroke along her slit. “It’s a quim, or a cunt. I’ll call it whatever you prefer, but for now…” he trails off and slips a finger inside of her, and Rey bucks her hips desperately, already seeking more friction. She’s held in place by Poe’s hand on her breast, and she whimpers as he rocks into her a few more times. She wishes it was his cock, but when he slips out to tease her bud, she finds that she does not care so much, as long as he does not stop.

“Poe!” She knows she is close to wailing, but with her husband so attentive and close to her, she cannot be embarrassed.

“I love hearing your lips form my name,” he laughs, a strangely sweet noise as his hands bring her to such pleasure. His other hand slips down, and after tugging her legs ever wider, it replaces his first hand at her bud. He strokes at her patiently, and then Rey gasps as his other fingers come to rest at her entrance. “I love hearing you gasp like this, for I have dreamed of that sound for years,” he admits to her, and Rey clenches around nothing, frustrating _nothingness,_ and as if sensing her frustration, Poe slips a finger into her body, his other hand still circling her bud maddeningly.

“Does that please you, Mrs. Dameron?” He asks her solemnly. She feels his teeth graze along her neck.

“It would please me if you were to go a little faster,” Rey says crossly, needing more, always more.

He laughs at that, and she feels a delightful burn as he adds another finger. “This is what I meant by opening you,” he tells her softly. “This is what I should have done last night, instead of forcing myself on you. Please forgive me.”

“Oh, I certainly forgive you, Commander,” Rey intended to sound playful, but she finds she sounds rather pitiful, as her hips start to push down on his questing fingers. She cannot, will not, be ashamed of the motion. Poe moves his fingers a little quicker, and Rey pants desperately.

“I want to feel you upon my fingers,” Poe confesses to her, causing her to moan loudly. “I want to bring you to your orgasm like this, with you between my legs and my hands at your quim. Please, let me hear you, let me feel you, let me love you.”

Rey screams as her back arches involuntarily; she fears she is possessed, her body contorts so forcefully, but the fear is quickly replaced by waves of pleasure that do not subside, not when her husband so dutifully continues his ministrations long into the orgasm.

“Poe, Poe – please, Poe, it is too much,” she begs after what must be hours of intense pleasure.

He pulls from her hastily and kisses her ear, apologizing fervently. Rey is too ensconced in bliss to mind, and she is already drifting off to sleep when she hears her husband whisper how much he loves her.

Perhaps later in the morning, he will find the idea of joining with her to be more agreeable, she thinks sleepily. What an entertaining diversion this is promising to be.

Rey’s last thought is that she does not understand how married couples ever leave their room, if this is how it always is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, it became a three-shot with a mild semblance of a plot (aka Poe's sudden fear of hurting his wife, to be slightly resolved in the next chapter)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and Rey spend their first full day as a married couple
> 
> Rey questions her husband's sudden lack of interest in marital relations
> 
> POV Order; Poe; Rey; Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Poe laments bruises on his wife, and notes scars on her back (Referenced/implied past violence)
> 
> Warning 2: The sex begins at Rey's POV and continues through Poe's (oh my), vaginal sex + associated foreplay

Rey is still asleep an hour after the dawn. Poe is all too content to lie next to her, having woken up with the sun due to years of habit. Her head is resting on the pillows, her hair tangled and half-up, and what shows of her skin is bare and glowing in the early morning light. She is a vision, and Poe can only stare at her.

He does not know what devil possessed him to talk to her like a common scoundrel only hours ago. She had first asked him the name of his sex, but he had delivered foul language, sheer billingsgate, with no further provocation as he brought her to orgasm. The sounds she had made, clenched around his fingers – they encourage him in the hope that she will not find him repulsive now.

Poe pulls the blanket away from her body tentatively, hoping to press himself against her and maybe fall asleep with his arms around her when something catches his eye. They are almost hard to discern in the pale grey morn; he reaches out unthinkingly to trace a series of silvered, long scars on his wife’s back. They travel from shoulder blade to opposite hip. Are they from her fall last year? Perhaps she had scraped her back along the ground when she had been thrown from her horse.

Rey is an adventurous woman, he knows. He hopes desperately that these scars are a sign of her untamed spirit and nothing cruel or evil. Poe has seen similar scars elsewhere in the world; he never could have dreamed they would appear on the skin of the woman he loves. He cannot think of why marks from a whip would appear on the back of a lady. He thinks of all he has learned of his wife, through the height of their intimacy alone, over the course of a night. Poe knows what makes her sigh, and gasp; he knows to avoid approaching her from behind, knows she is more clever and curious than any could have guessed. He knows that he loves her passionately, more and more with every passing second.

Poe knows that he cannot ask her the source of these scars. He knows, at the very least hopes, that she will tell him when she is ready.

Her back is soft under his fingertips, the scars nothing more than raised lines that hint at a tragic past; Poe kisses the top of one gently, and leaves his forehead pressed against her shoulder as he prays for her to share with him her sadness and burdens, so he can help her shoulder them like a dutiful husband.

His light kiss wakes her, like a princess in a folk tale, and Poe watches wonderingly as his wife stretches and turns, holding the blanket to her bosom to face him.

“Good morning, husband,” Rey says, a blush on her fair cheeks.

“Good morning, wife,” he answer solemnly. Poe leans in to kiss her sweetly, and he sighs in contentment. His wife returns the kiss, and her hand comes to rest on his sideburn. The kiss becomes passionate after several moments, the heat rising between them once more. “You are too bewitching, fair one,” he tells her, pushing away slightly to breathe. “I fear we shall never rise from this bed if you continue to enchant me so.” 

“Then let me,” Rey offers shyly. Poe feels his sex throb and awaken at her suggestion, but he is spared from answering or calling upon the Lord for strength to resist when he hears a small rumble. “Oh, goodness.” Rey covers her face with her hands in embarrassment, and Poe smiles at her, completely endeared to her.

“Was that…was that a dragon?” He asks, grinning like a fool.

“No,” Rey moans, turning to lie on her stomach and bury her face in the bed.

“Was it thunder? This early in the morning?” Poe continues, stroking his hand down her upper arm. Rey peeks up at him, vexation obvious on her features.

“No, husband.”

“Pray tell, what was it?” Poe croons, leaning down to kiss the side of her precious face.

“My stomach,” she whispers into the bedspread.

“I beg your pardon madam? I did not hear you.” Poe rubs his thumb on her bare elbow, delighting in these innocent touches. He may touch her however he wishes, now, with her permission. They are husband and wife, and he is giddy at the thought of it, no matter how much he still quakes in guilt from harming her last night.

“I said,” Rey sits up primly, allowing the blanket to fall away from her body as she twists to look at him. Poe no longer laughs; he can only stare at her bared chest. “It was my stomach, Commander Dameron. I fear that you have given me great cause to be hungered, and if you would be so kind to stop teasing your wife, you would find that she is famished and requires sustenance. But still you laugh at me in my misery, and I shall have to fend for myself.”

Rey rises from the bed, and Poe swallows a shout of protest. She grabs her shift from the floor and moves to pull it over her head, and Poe smiles at her, waiting patiently for her to end her jest and return to his arms, when he sees – oh, Lord, forgive him.

She catches him staring before she re-dresses. “Poe?” She drops her affronted air immediately and holds her chemise in one hand. “What is wrong? Are you upset?”

He can only stare, blinking away tears when he looks at her body—specifically, her small waist and hips, and even her thighs, where there are a series of reddish bruises, small and circular. Fingerprints, he thinks wretchedly. He held her too tightly. “Why did you not say when I hurt you last night?” Poe asks, voice hoarse.

“What do you mean, darling?” Rey’s voice is full of concern, and he does not deserve it. Poe rises, his body moving without instruction, and walks to his wife’s side. He catches her in his arms and embraces her gently.

“Forgive me,” he whispers into the air behind her. “Forgive me, my love.”

“I would happily forgive you, if you would tell me for what sin you seek absolution.”

Poe pulls away and frowns at her slightly. “Do not trifle with me; I am a wretched creature. Look for yourself, my love.” He rests his hands on her waist, and strokes his hands from the bruises there to the tops of her thighs, and Rey’s hands come to grasp his wrists.

“I do not feel any pain, Poe,” she assures him, and he shakes her head against her kindness. “No, I truly do not feel these marks upon my skin. I could not tell you at what point they formed last night; I can only tell you that you have shown me such pleasure and happiness in our time together, that I cannot question or hate any reminders of it on my person. And I wish you wouldn’t either.”

“I love you, and I do not deserve you,” Poe tells her quietly. He kisses her on the forehead, and then he turns away from her. “I will get dressed and order you breakfast, my sunbeam. Would you prefer to dress yourself, or have a servant assist you?” Rey informs him that she would prefer to dress herself, and he nods, pulling on a shirt and pants, and after Rey has secured a dressing gown around her body, he escorts her to her room.

When he goes downstairs, he personally requests someone to go and draw a bath for Mrs. Dameron at her earliest convenience, informs the cook of her favorite foods, which he had pulled from Rey over a series of conversations the last four months, and walks to his father’s study.

Poe stares at the desk, sitting in an armchair, lost in thought for almost half an hour. He is even more resolved now to not bother his wife with his sexual perversions. He will resist the many temptations of her perfect flesh, and he will never harm her again.

**

Rey hisses when she lowers herself into the bath, and she flushes when she catches the sympathetic look from the young servant who is assisting her. She smiles at the girl reassuringly – she cannot abide the idea that this girl could tell someone that Mrs. Dameron was in extreme pain after her wedding night, because what if Poe caught wind of the rumor? It would break his heart.

She sinks down until only her head is above the warm water, the luxurious sensation loosening her tense muscles. The pain in her loins has returned, and she winces at the dull ache between her thighs. It dissipates after a few minutes; soon she is enjoying the vapors and Rey dips her head down happily below the surface after taking a deep breath. She releases it slowly so she can sink lower beneath the large tub’s surface with her eyes closed.

After a count to ten, she rises and wipes her hands over her eyes. Blinking, she finds the servant staring at her, fear on the girl’s face.

“What is your name?” Rey asks curiously.

“I am called Sara, Mrs. Dameron.” The girl responds. Rey smiles at her and stretches under the water.

“Pleased to meet you Sara. I suppose it is too much to ask you to call me Rey?” The only people besides Poe who call her by her first name are the Solos, and they are an hour’s walk away. The girl blushes and does not answer, which is an answer enough.

Rey sighs and finishes her bath in silence. Sara does help her dress, as Rey cannot reach the buttons on her selected blue dress. Her hair is braided and looped into a bun, and around eight o’clock, she walks down the stairs and into the dining room, where Poe already sits at the table, reading a paper.

He stands upon seeing her, almost knocking his chair over in his haste.

“I did not know you were already finished preparing,” Poe stammers. “I would have liked to have walked you to breakfast.”

“I found my way, Commander,” she teases him lightly. The servants near the door exchange a look, amusement clear on their faces, which only makes her smile more.

They dine sitting across the table from each other, and Rey is delighted to see her favorite jam on the table. She remembers mentioning it to Poe three months ago at tea; seeing it on their breakfast table causes a warmth to unspool through her stomach. She loves her husband; he makes it so easy to love him.

After breakfast, he offers to show her around the grounds of Yavin, and Rey accepts excitedly. They are joined on their walk by Bartleby, an orange and white hound who brays at Poe when they step outside. The dog sniffs at Rey once before sitting and wagging his tail. She scratches under his chin delightedly, smoothing her hand over his noble head. He makes a pleased rumble in his throat, and Rey laughs at him, the dog blinking up at her happily.

“That damn beast,” Poe grumbles. “You would think he was a well-behaved dog, and not a full demon capable of incredible destruction.”

“This sweet boy?” Rey asks, still scratching Bartleby behind the ears. “He has not harmed a fly in his life, I can tell.”

Poe huffs quietly and offers her his arm. The grounds are expansive, slightly more overgrown than the carefully cultivated lawns of Alderaan. The trees look different, the groves closer together; bright birds hop from each branch, and flowers are thick in the June air.  

When they near a large tree with a wide shadow, Rey requests a brief reprieve. The air is getting warmer, and she wants to enjoy the cooler air under the branches. Poe acquiesces immediately, and he throws sticks for Bartleby to catch, both of them clearly performing for Rey, who rests in the shade and smiles at them.

She calls Poe over to her side when she cannot bear it any longer; watching him move under the sun, his tan skin shining against the white of his shirt, his curls dampening from a light sweat – Rey fears she will go mad. Poe approaches her, a smile on his handsome face, and Rey holds her hands out to her husband. He takes them, and he kisses her, sensing her request. Rey waits a few seconds into the chaste kiss before she nips at his lip playfully, a motion he has performed in the past with great success in stirring her own lust.

Poe groans and moves to pull away, but Rey tangles her hands in his hair and steps back until she rests against the trunk of the large tree. Poe’s hand catches at her waist, and he deepens the kiss, his other hand cradling her jaw. Rey gasps when his tongue runs along the length of her mouth, licking its way inside much the same way he had licked into her body the previous night.

Poe holds her tighter, pressing her against the bark, and Rey whimpers when she feels the beginnings of his arousal against her hip, palpable even through the multiple layers. Poe stumbles back, mouth half-open, shirt untucked – she does not remember removing the tails from his pants, but she must have – and he flushes a red she fears has nothing to do with lust.

“I am sorry,” he pants, already tucking his shirt back in. “Forgive me, I –” Poe turns and drags his hands through his hair, shoulders heaving. “That was improper of me, please forgive me.”

“Why would I forgive you, Commander – for what would I forgive you?” Rey is confused. “There is no one out here to witness what just happened, and I am the one who initiated it. Do you wish for me to apologize to you?”

Poe pivots and stares at her, wild-eyed. He blinks, and then his face settles into composure. “No, my sunbeam. There is no need to apologize. We must complete our walk of the grounds, if you are feeling well-rested.”

Rey feels many things beyond well-rested: frustrated; anxious; confused. But she takes her husband’s arm, and they continue to stroll the grounds for several hours.

After lunch, she asks if they can retire to his room, but Poe merely sits on the bed and reads through reports from the fleet. Rey dozes off before she can attempt to convince him to partake in other activities, and when she awakens, he kisses her sweetly before excusing himself to go talk to the cook about dinner.

Poe is in the library an hour later, and when Rey knocks nervously at the door, he gestures for her to come in. He looks so delighted to see her flit amongst the volumes, and he encourages her to sit in the armchair next to him while they spend an afternoon reading. His hand reaches out for hers after a brief time, and he strokes over her knuckles with his thumb while he peruses a text on history. Rey selected Goethe, and she is quickly lost to the prose. When the servant summons them for dinner, she blinks away the spell cast by the words, and she takes Poe’s arm.

Dinner is delicious and sumptuous; she worries that she eats too heartily, still starving after their shared day, and their shared night – Rey is determined to have as much sustenance as possible, so she can take full advantage of the privacy of their rooms. She assumes that is why Poe pulled away outside; part of her wonders why he did not take her in the library – Rey had certainly entertained the idea of using the desk, or the ladder in numerous, clever ways, before she had been lost to her book.

They retire an hour after dinner, and Rey pauses at the top of the stairs. She feels suddenly nervous, and looks between her door and Poe’s door – should she wait for an invitation and wait in her room, or to follow Poe to his chambers.

Her husband helps answer that question quickly. “Would you care to spend the night with me once more?” He asks, sounding nervous of the answer. Rey smiles eagerly and walks forward without hesitation. Poe closes the door behind them, and lights a candle, setting it on the bedside table. It flickers in the dark, joining with the light already lit in the window.

“Will you help me undress?” She asks him, standing at the foot of his bed. Poe is devastatingly handsome in the low candlelight, shadows catching on his features, making him look Romantic and otherworldly. He swallows visibly before moving to oblige. She notes that her husband takes great care to unbutton her dress while standing in front of her. Rey tilts her face up for a kiss, wishing to feel his mouth upon hers once more. Poe agrees to that as well, and the kiss is sweet and patient. Rey tries to deepen it the way she had outside, but he resists, and when the last button is free, he steps away and walks to the washroom.

Rey feels strangely disappointed, worry curling in her stomach. She steps out of the dress and stands, unsure of herself, in nothing but her chemise and stockings in front of the unlit fireplace. Poe emerges wearing a nightshirt, and Rey looks at him.

Without warning, she begins to cry, and in embarrassment from the suddenness of the reaction, she cries harder.

“My sunbeam,” Poe is agonized, and he strides across the room until he is at her side. “Are you feeling quite well? Do you wish for me to leave?”

“No,” Rey wipes her eyes angrily. “No, I do not.”

“What do you wish?” Poe reaches out for her but thinks better of it, clenching his hands into fists and dropping them at his side. It only makes her cry harder, shame coiling through her. “What, love, what can I do?” She shakes her head, mortified. “Please, Rey, tell me, I beg you.”

“I have displeased you,” Rey sobs.

“What?” Poe staggers back, aghast. “Why would you think that?”

“We have only lain together as husband and wife once,” Rey whispers, tears still rolling down her face. “And now you do not wish to even touch me.” She gasps for breath, a sob still shuddering through her, coursing through her lungs and veins. She covers her face with her hands to hide her shame from her husband, her husband who no longer wishes to lie with her. “You do not want me, and I do not know why.”

“Rey.” His hands are at her wrists and she lowers them so she can see him. Poe’s eyes are kind, and also full of tears. “My sunbeam; I did not touch you for I thought you would not want me to.”

“Why would I not want to lie with my husband?” She sounds angrier than she feels, but Poe does not seem to respond to the anger. His eyes soften more, and she feels a confusing tension between wanting to sink into his arms and wanting to rave at him.

“You mistake me, my sweet.” Poe shakes his head and smiles sadly. “We do not need to lay together to be husband and wife. I do not wish to push you more than I already have. You are so innocent, so pure, and I cannot bear the fact that I hurt you last night. The impropriety of the things I said to you, the passion I exerted over you when I should be a gentleman. You, a lady…harmed under my foul desires…” Poe trails off, overcome, and Rey knows which of her emotions she settles upon.

“I wish I had half as much experience as you,” she snarls. Poe does blink at that. “Half as much knowledge of the world, half as much apathy towards what we shared. I wish I could rip my heart open and show you how much it meant to me, I wish I could convince you of my happiness last night, share with you the fire in my veins until you feel the same passion that I do. I assure you, I regret that you married me under the assumption that I was a high-bred lady of great esteem and even greater repression. But the heart that beats in my chest does not give a damn about propriety. If you brought me here to be a painted lady or a symbol of your status as a gentleman, then I shall live the rest of my life in _misery."_

Poe looks as though he wishes to say something, but Rey is not done. “I apologize for thinking you of all men, you who have always been so kind to me, so open to my interests, viewed me as almost an equal. I do not think anything was _done_ to me last night, and I do not think you exerted yourself over me. I have seen enough of this world, in my limited time and experience, and I have seen enough of men to know that you did _nothing_ violent or untoward to my person, nothing I did not enjoy or seek to repeat. But again, if you only wish to have me here as an ornament, a thing to play with and put back when you are ashamed of lying with it, then I shall return to my quarters and wait until you are willing to treat me as a husband treats a wife. At least then I shall know where we stand.”

Rey dashes the last of her angered tears from her eyes, already feeling shame for talking to her husband like this. He is well within his rights to strike her now, she knows, but her heart pounds so wildly in her chest that she is not sure she would not strike him back, anything to tame this beast that surges in her. She turns to walk to the door, not caring she wears only her underclothes, when she feels a hand grasp her arm.

Poe pulls her towards him roughly, and Rey goes willingly. There is something wild in his eyes.

“You mistake me,” he insists. “I do view you as an equal – not almost an equal, but an equal. I have admired you for years, Rey, and I do not give a damn for propriety either. I give a damn about your safety and comfort – I assumed I injured you last night; that is why I hesitated in touching you in that manner. Do not mistake me, Rey, I view you as an equal, and there is no way to capture the depth of the passion that burns inside me for you. It has burned for years, threatening to engulf me in an inferno; forgive me for being slow to realize or appreciate that you may feel the same for me, even in the smallest ratio. I love you, sunbeam, and I love you in all ways. I beg you, do not retreat to your quarters. Stay with me, please. Stay with me always.”

Rey nods, lost for words, adrift in Poe’s eyes when he pulls her closer and kisses her without restraint. She grabs at his shoulders, cursing the layers between them, and in a flurry of movement, they are soon bare, standing in front of each other, both flushed and panting.

“Poe,” she whispers. “Take me to bed, I beg you.”

He groans and steps in to kiss her again. His hands grasp at her bottom and Rey gasps; he seizes her at the back of her thighs and pulls her up against him.

“I should like to try something new tonight,” Poe whispers to her. Rey nods, eagerly, and she looks on in confusion as Poe turns and settles himself in his armchair. “Come, Mrs. Dameron,” he tells her teasingly, patting his knee. Rey stares at his erect member curved against his stomach and she walks forward, staring without shame.

She settles herself on Poe’s lap, her legs on either side of his knees with his instruction and assistance. Rey looks worriedly over her shoulder at the lack of support behind her; nothing to catch her if she tips over. Poe grabs her chin and turns her to face him. “I will never let you fall,” he promises her solemnly, just as much an oath as their wedding vows yesterday. Rey nods, eagerly. “May I touch you, Mrs. Dameron?” She nods again, and gasps when his fingers slide against her bud. She is already wet, she knows, and Poe moans his appreciation when he discovers the same fact.

He slips a finger into her – _quim,_ she remembers him calling it – and Rey reaches down awkwardly to stroke his cock. Poe groans louder at that, sobbing her name as he thrusts up into her hand.

Poe works another finger into her before he grasps himself in one hand. Rey whimpers to see her wetness on his fingers, and Poe holds her waist and guides her over his cock. Rey closes her eyes against the sensation of him pressing against her entrance. “Relax, my sunbeam,” he murmurs. “Breathe, Rey.” She nods and obliges, and soon she finds herself sinking down over him.

“Oh,” she gasps at the feeling. It is very different from last night; a strange and welcome fullness, pressing against a part of herself much more closely than their previous positioning. “Oh, Poe!”

He grins at her, and using both hands to grip her waist, he gently moves her up and down, until Rey thinks her thighs are strong enough to take over. It feels increasingly warm and pleasant, and Rey laughs, delightedly. Poe laughs as well, wonder in his eyes even as sweat forms at his hairline and his skin grows increasingly flushed, reaching down to the top of his powerful chest.

“It’s like riding a horse,” she proclaims, feeling more confident. Poe neighs as if he were his Thoroughbred, which only makes her laugh harder – until he adjusts his grip on her and thrusts up to meet her, more powerfully than before. Rey shrieks and braces her hands on his shoulders, his chest, anywhere to gain purchase.

**

Poe chases the feeling of his wife around him, thrusting up into her heat with abandon. Her speech from earlier had stirred his heart at the same time it had stirred his loins, and he fully intends to show her how much _passion_ he feels for her. Their current arrangement seems to please her much more than last night, and he intends on pursuing this position as much as she will allow him.

Rey is resplendent in the candlelight, her body working over him, a light sweat forming on her lithe, perfect body. Poe leaves one hand on her waist as she leans back, her hands resting behind her on his thighs while she balances on him. His other hand trails up to a breast, where he strokes and teases her nipple until she whimpers and looks back at him.

“I love you,” he tells her.

“And I love you,” she answers, causing his heart to pound harder and louder, impossibly ringing in his ears. He cannot truly think with his cock buried so deeply into her, but he can think enough to drag his hand down to her swollen sex and rub circles over her tiny jewel until she shrieks again. There is an increase in the wetness between them, and Poe stares at the place where their bodies are joined, truly bewitched.

This is perhaps the greatest position in the world, he thinks dazedly. Why would any attempt any other method? It cannot be beat for view, and the joy it seems to bring Rey – he thrusts harder, and she does not seem to mind. Her hands leave his thighs, and she tips briefly – he catches her quickly and pulls her forward. Rey rests her head on his shoulder, his chest bearing some of her weight as she sags from exhaustion or pleasure – he cannot tell. He tries to continue to strum at her, his feet braced against the floor for leverage, and Rey whimpers his name into his neck, _“Poe,”_ and God above, he is lost to her.

He empties into her, and his heart pounds louder as she continues to whimper. Poe knows he chokes on her name, gasping some profanity, but he cannot care, not when the world is just Rey, just this.

His cock remains almost fully hard inside of her, and he pushes her up lightly, continuing to move his hips although he is tired and the extra stimulation is bordering on the painful. She is so tight around him that he cannot bear to leave her body until he knows she is satisfied. It takes several more moments of his fingers at her bud, his mouth at her breast, his cock still buried inside her quim before she screams to the heavens once more, and he knows she is done.

Poe carries her, her legs wrapped around his waist and his arms firm around her bottom, into the washroom. He sets her down carefully on the chair that is provided for clothing, and attends to her sex, wiping her dutifully and kissing her inner thighs even as she shivers from her orgasm. She is too sensitive to attempt another, he learns as he wipes the towel over her, and he satisfies himself with the memory of her clutching at him, rhythmically seizing over his cock as she screamed his name.

When he is convinced she is clean and will not be overly sore in the morning, he gathers her in his arms once more and carries them to their bed. Rey falls asleep almost the moment he joins her on the pillows, and Poe thinks sleepily that perhaps now that they have shared so much, they can also look forward to meeting each other in their dreams.

Their marriage will always be a happy one, he knows, so long as he remembers to be open with his wife. They shall be equals, Poe thinks before he follows his wife into sleep: Poe and Rey Dameron shall live their lives together as equal partners in a happy marriage.

It is the sort of ending he once thought only existed in stories; but lying here with his wife in his arms, Commander Dameron knows better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was way longer/more plot-filled than i thought it would be (what else is new with me)
> 
> When "His Sunbeam" finishes, keep an eye out for "Commander Dameron Takes a Wife" (working title, honestly) AKA the official sequel to Force and Fortitude.  
> It will have  
> ~angst~  
> ~smut~  
> ~Finn Trooper and Ben Solo~  
> ~and maybe ... even ... babies????~

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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